


Not Like Them

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Crying, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4534959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky gets targeted for being gay in a bar fight. The anger bubbles over and all he needs is Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Like Them

Steve sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting against the back of the couch as he listened to the knocks and smashes coming from Bucky’s room. The sound of a fist hitting a wall, followed by an angry growl made Rogers flinch. Not a flinch of fear, more one of concern. He hated it when Bucky hurt himself.

He knew from experience now that riding Bucky’s anger out, leaving him to it until he was spent was the only approach that worked, and it pained Steve. All he wanted was to alleviate some of the distress, say something that would make him feel better, weave some verbal stitches through the angry wounds left on Bucky by cruel words or lost fights.

It was a bar fight this time. Someone had pulled Bucky up on how much time spent with ‘ _that queer, Rogers_ ’, and how much less attention he gave dames now _. “Yeah? What’s it to ya’?”_ Bucky had bristled, his abrupt defensiveness and diverted gaze giving him away. One slur after the other had pushed Bucky over that threshold between defence and attack. The resulting fight had not been major (he had gotten away with a few bruises and cuts) but the label pasted on him and the things they had said about Steve had left Bucky boiling with rage and self-resentment.

There was a break in the racket. Steve hopped up and knocked on Bucky’s door.

“You good in there, Buck?” Steve asked, instantly smiting the nonchalance that sounded so forced.

There was silence from behind the bedroom door. Steve hesitated, before opening it slowly.

The room was in disarray. A few things smashed, a lamp and a beer bottle and there were a few more dents in the plaster than before. Steve was unfazed by it; he had seen it before. It was Bucky he was worried by.

“Come on Buck,” Steve soothed, “You know better than to let this rile you up.”  


Steve crouched in front of Bucky, who was sitting with his back against the wall and his knees to his chest. His fists were clenched in his hair, the blood from his battered knuckles was running down his forearms and dripping onto his feet. Tears would drop into the blood now and then, dispersing and diluting, turning it pink.

“Go and do your art or somethin’ Stevie,” Bucky sniffed, his voice dry, “Don’t want you seeing me all hurt like this.”

Steve sighed, slumping his shoulders. He put a hand on Bucky’s knee, squeezing it gently and rubbing his thumb back and forth. He could feel Bucky trembling, rage and adrenaline not quite subsiding yet.

“I don’t want to see you all hurt either,” Steve shuffled round, so he was sitting next to Bucky, the uneven floorboards pressing uncomfortably into his tailbone.

“But I sure as hell aren’t going to let you be all hurt by yourself,” Steve continued when he was comfortable, pressed right against Bucky’s arm.

Bucky slumped sideways, lying with his head in the crook of Steve’s lap. Steve carded a hand through Bucky’s hair, flattening the short back and sides. His face was damp and flushed from crying and rubbing and his bottom lip was shaking tearfully.

Steve wondered what it would be like, if Bucky was his guy and they could do this whenever. If they could cuddle up like this and hold each other whenever they wanted, not just through pain or comfort.

Sometimes, it was like that. Bucky would stroke Steve’s neck absently whilst he was painting, hold his hand if they were sitting close, or pull him into a hug that was long and searching for no reason at all. Steve would let him and pretend that it didn’t make his heart beat out of his chest and that he didn’t stay up at night replaying it in his head. He pretended that he had not heard Bucky moan his name heatedly in the shower when he thought Steve was too busy to notice. He also pretended that it didn’t kill him every day that Bucky wasn’t on his arm.

“It’s not fair, Steve,” Bucky groaned weakly, hoarse from yelling and crying, “They give us so much stick just cause’ we don’t love like them.”

Steve nodded, pausing the rhythm of his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

“Doesn’t mean you have to stop yourself from loving,” Steve shrugged, “You can’t do that to yourself forever.”

Bucky nodded and turned onto his back, looking up at Steve.

“Why don’t you have a fella then?” Bucky asked, tapping Steve’s chest clumsily.

Steve paused, then shook his head dismissively.

“You could have your pick, Stevie,” Bucky closed his eyes, content with Steve toying with his hair.

Steve scoffed a laugh.

“I’m smaller than most dames, Buck,” Steve chuckled.

“And nicer to look at,” Bucky smiled, putting his hand over Steve’s stopping its motion.

Steve frowned, looking away and leaning his head back against the wall. He took a steadying breath.

“Well I guess the other fellas just aren’t…” Steve paused, doubtful of his words.

“Aren’t what?”

Steve bit his tongue, then jumped.

“They aren’t like you, Buck.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, a smile growing on his mouth. The smile looked out of place on such a tear-stained face but it was enough of a smile to slow Steve’s heart down a touch.

“You mean that?” Bucky asked quietly, “You like _me_?”

Steve nodded, feeling his cheeks colour.

“Always have,” He muttered looking away.

Bucky reached up and tilted Steve’s head down, making him look at him.

“Well,” Bucky cleared his throat, “That changes things, Stevie.”  


Anxiety crept through Steve’s chest. Whatever he felt for Bucky, he was still his best friend. He did not want to ruin that.

“Like what?” Steve’s voice was small, and he didn’t know if he wanted to hear an answer.

“You can use your room as an art studio, cause’ you’ll be sleeping in here with me,” Bucky said, a wicked grin spreading on his tired face.

Steve sighed in relief.

“That’ll be nice Buck,” He whispered, “Real nice.”

 

 


End file.
